


Let Me Be Your Ruler

by mrhiddles



Series: Royals [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asgard, Jotunheim won, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, M/M, Thorki - Freeform, male and female jotnar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrhiddles/pseuds/mrhiddles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jotunheim won and Laufey did what any other warlord would do; he took the heart of Asgard.</p><p>Thor is raised by Loki's side and helps Loki overthrow his father. But Loki wants so much more than just Jotunheim.</p><p>The <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/998787">sequel</a> is now up!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Be Your Ruler

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Seidrs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Seidrs).



> For [Seidrs](http://seidrs.tumblr.com/) because wow, such beautiful art, and wonderful headcanons and just ugh, so much love for your Jotun Thor and Jotun Loki designs.
> 
> I probably took a little headcanon and blew it way the hell up, but I hope this does your AU some justice!

It takes ten years for the fall of Asgard and its shining halls, but fall it does.

The Jotnar are cruel where the Asgardians are not and kind where the Asgardians lack the notion. The giant flays those in his way with sheets of ice, molding them into the new environment he would make Asgard be. He slays children, takes hostages, and empties the great Vault of nearly all within. Nearly, for there are few things he and his men cannot carry out. A gauntlet and short hammer being among them. But it matters not for he wields the casket and seals the entrance with ice thick enough to tire even Ymir’s clawing hands, had he still lived.

And oh, Laufey did wish his ancestor were alive to witness the fall of their enemy. So grand as it is. To see his vanquished half-kin fall so gloriously, his reputation forever entombed by the crushing ice that fell him.

Laufey takes many things and many lives. He leaves only a few, to remember, to spread word and fear and teach those who would be born in the following generations just what such an enemy Jotunheim truly is.

Odin lies prone in death, Frigga-queen clutching a thin sheen of steel above him. She crosses his arms, kisses his forehead, and that is when Laufey turns away.

“You will know suffering, Laufey,” comes the voice of a queen robbed of her realm. She merely whispers it, but Laufey is a god of his people be he giant or otherwise and hears her well over the simmering carnage.

“As will you, pretty Queen.”

Asgard is broken, their frail queen swollen with child, whore to Odin’s memory. The ravens fly full overhead and Laufey remembers their indifferent, cold stare from his days as a prince only.

Laufey returns to his realm through the Bifrost with his eldest sons, laden with treasure and hostages and many other...more fragile things.

He touches a great finger to the crown of soft gold in his palm, staring into blue pricks of light, thinking that he has found his final piece in the everlasting game between Jotunheim and Asgard. He is careful not to let any part of their skin touch for he knows that as soon as he does, the tiny thing will freeze and die.

He will have to visit Angrboda upon his return to conceal the small, ugly thing from the harsh lands of their world.

Laufey also thinks, fleetingly, of Loki, young and small like the pale creature he now holds.

Perhaps luck favored both Laufey and his runt of a newborn this day.

\--

Farbauti calls Loki rare.

Just as his mate swirls tendrils of soft blue light to coil with Loki’s sputtering bursts of magic he claps from his hands. Snow falls around them, and though Laufey thinks his mate beautiful, he knows Farbauti’s contentment and wonder is ill-placed.

Laufey says Loki’s budding magic is disgusting. A disgrace.

He forbids Loki of his unforeseen talent before the babe can even understand the words.

\--

It is eight years later when Loki is knocked down by his elder brother, Byleister. Byleister did not see him as he walked past, so large as he is. Loki is crying where he tumbled to the icy floor, knocking his budding horns against the hard ground.

There is a smaller Jotun with white hair, a boy the size of Loki, who comes over and does the unspeakable. He helps Loki up, and though Loki snatches his elbow away—for he is a prince and knows no slave may touch him—he calms enough to cease crying. He eyes the other smaller boy, nods once, and then walks away. He goes slowly this time.

Byleister wonders at the small Jotun, both for the sight of small frame of build and hair is so rare among their kind. But the boy seems appropriately afraid of Byleister as he realizes he is still in the presence of Jotunheim’s prince, and so bows low, sinking to his knees. He shakes, and it is the only thing that keeps Byleister from snapping his neck.

That and for the fact he comforted little Loki in a way Byleister knows he never could.

\--

Byleister wonders about the small slave for several weeks, for he seems familiar. He watches him as he flits about the palace of ice and does what is expected of him. He does not speak, or look anyone above him in the eye. He keeps himself clean and is altogether an unhindering presence. But Byleister suspects something strange in the boy.

Such features are not unheard of, for even Loki has hair and is small. But in the nobler of lands where warriors are bred and scarred, it seems a misplaced set of traits. Such frailty is oftentimes found in those capable of seidr, again, something not common to those of Laufey’s house. Loki has magic. Their mother does as well, though she is no runt.

Byleister suspects this strange, silver-haired boy has no seidr about him. He does menial tasks by hand and does not even seem to summon the ice to help. Not even in simple things, like forming a slab for fish at mealtimes, or the salty drink they have at gatherings in Laufey’s ancient hall.

But the oddity of it is soon set aside for a gleam of curiosity, for in the following years the slave builds muscle and height enough to nearly dwarf Loki. Loki is scant shorter, but it is something. And though Laufey would spit in the presence of his youngest if courtesy allowed it, and is ashamed of Loki’s stature, Byleister is happy to see his little brother grow to the height of his own lowest ribs.

The slave and Loki are roughly the same size, and he often sees Loki watch him and give him endless tasks. He also sees a gleam of adventure and mischief in Loki where he charms sparks to dance along the skirts of women and the heels of warriors, and goblets of wine to knock over end when being reached for at supper. He sees his brother growing restless.

The slave looks a budding warrior and Loki is too small for a prince of this realm.

Byleister sits and waits.

\--

“I want to hunt.”

“It’s too dangerous, you will be lost in the snows,” his brother replies. Loki sits upon Byleister’s knee and has his long hair braided. It is shadowed in Loki’s chambers, and no one ever sees to call upon Loki at such an hour. None know of Byleister’s kindness to him, and he prefers it stay that way.

“I want to wander the outlying lands. Forage, collect things for my studies.”

“You are too small.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know, little brother.”

A pause and Loki notices several long cracks spidering thinly over the ice of his floor. “Father is gone often. He brings home more heads than loot.”

“He is King. A kingdom such as ours demands blood every now and again.”

“He is increasingly more violent,” Loki comments as he feels his hair threaded through giant fingers. It’s a wonder his brother is capable of such a skill at all.

“Laufey has a crown and forced Asgard under his heel. He enjoys the power.”

Loki scoffs. “I know that.”

“Can you blame him?”

No, thinks Loki, he can’t.

\--

Loki is sitting on an edge of ice overlooking the wastes of Jotunheim, fiddling idly with a silver chain that loops between his horns. They say the lands beyond are filled with beasts large enough even Ymir could have envied a ride on them. Beasts his father and brothers hunted and came back stained in their blood.

He wanted to be out there. He wanted to feel to fur of a wolf’s neck as he broke it and conquered the beast. He wanted to prepare a meal of his own and prove himself, slick with blood and the salt of the wastes.

There is a clink of something like metal and Loki whips his head around. The slave is there with a tray of meat and fish. His slave.

He meets the other’s eyes.

“You know, slave, I’ve never hunted. Father says I am too small, and that I would trip the beasts.” He receives only silence and he sighs. “You know you are allowed to speak when in my company. We’ve known each other since the war ended, after all.”

Loki does not know when the slave came to them. He was simply always _there_. He suspected Laufey stole him from the outlands, though he cannot fathom his motive for such a thing. He can hardly glance at Loki without also stoking a fire pit, so to bring back an equally small, _slaveboy_ is incomprehensible to him.

A deep voice issues forth and Loki glories in it, just as he has always. “The King is wise.”

Loki stands and walks to his slave. They are nearly eye level, a rarity for Loki. He notices several silver strands of hair whisp out in front of the slave’s face, over his smooth forehead. Loki has always been fascinated by his lack of bone curving upward. Horns were often a symbol of royal blood, he knew, but many other Jotnar had them as well. “What think you of your future?”

He shakes his head, baffled. “I think I shall serve our King.”

“Aye, and how exactly does a lone slave do such a thing?”

Loki can see he is trying to think of a response that is neither rude, nor forward, nor dumb. Loki lowers his chin. “You are to be a guard. My brother agrees it is a good idea.”

He looks shocked. “I am too small!”

Loki quirks a brow and the slave shuts his mouth, realizing his outburst. Loki says, “You will be my guard. One day.”

Loki can still see he is plainly disbelieving. To lighten the mood he simply asks, “What is your name, slave? I will need to know who to call if ever I am cornered in a fight of blood.”

“Thor,” he murmurs. Loki touches his shoulder.

Loki envisions a crown of ice and glass, shining.

\--

Weeks go by, and Loki contemplates exactly when he will make his move. Byleister is his brother, and will follow him no matter what way the wind blows. He knows that for certain. Helblindi...he cannot say. He is a dog at their father’s heels, and if it comes to it, it might be a battle of sons and fathers and brothers all.

He is thinking of spellwork and corridors when Laufey calls counsel.

\--

It is in a hall of towering dark and shimmering reflections that Laufey calls his gathering. The kingsguard is there, Thor a short, lean line beside monoliths. The weeks of his new training have already widened his arms and chest and he peers with some fatigue out into the hall. Loki wishes to know what that is like, to train until even your eyes appear tired. But seidr is his talent and he much prefers its subtlety to the brute avalanche of strength that comes from a blow to the face or heart. He would rather poison than stab, and Loki knows it is a talent, a skill to be honed.

Loki meets Thor’s eyes from across the main table before he sits and brings his attention to his father.

It is only their family and the guard this day. Farbauti has been a quiet presence for many years, and Loki sees little of her. He wonders at his mother, how she has been. But the thought is fleeting and is soon replaced with familiar thoughts of regicide and the like. Things to ponder over lazy days.

“Asgard is growing. They have labored over new orchards, conjured new springs, reached out to the other realms. Odin’s bitch has seen to that.”

Laufey never was one for mincing words.

“Why does this concern us?” asks Helblindi dumbly. Loki knows that if they were to grow an army of ever young, ever powerful beings once more they would march upon Jotunheim as Jotunheim once marched upon them.

Laufey levels his eldest a stare fit to unnerve even Loki. “Helblindi you are so large I wonder your brain does not rattle.” He grunts into the air. “They are birthing children who will be raised to fight. They will grow again.”

“We should have frozen the entire realm,” Byleister remarks.

“To eliminate another realm entirely is to disrupt the great Tree. Have you no respect for life?” Laufey shifts in his seat, and Loki feels his gut flutter in something close to anticipation. His father has a gleam of mischief in his eyes and it is so scarce a thing that Loki must blink himself to reality to realize that yes, his father has an idea. “We will go to Asgard. Cleanse their young once more and rid their Vault of all that is left.”

“You could not lift the hammer last time!” Helblindi says, boldly.

“Many years have passed, son. It will lift as easily as the others did.”

Loki sees his chance and takes it. “I can help ease the way, my King.”

Laufey raises the thick ridge of one brow and considers his youngest. “You are the size of an Asgardian, and have no combat in you. What could you possibly do?”

“Runes. Magic—” Loki says as Laufey scoffs. “I can conceal our entry until we arrive at the Vault. No one need know our presence until we choose to announce it.”

“And what if our presence is what will demand their retreat?”

“Best to gain what we set out for before we seek to gain anything else.”

Laufey hums. “You know the wisdom of greed, I see. Useful for something I suppose.”

Loki sees Farbauti look at the floor, lips downturned. She looks sad.

“And would it not be best to meet our enemy with treasures in hand before so as to instill the—”

“You speak out of turn, for too long.” Laufey raises a hand and waves him off. “Go to your room, where none will hear your chatty mouth.”

Loki is furious but he stands and dismisses himself with dignity rather than be dragged out by one of the guards. He knows because it has happened before.

Before he is out of earshot, he hears Laufey say, “You all may leave, I need more time to consider our method of entry.”

Byleister ushers out, “It is not like you to do this. Why not let us charge—”

Laufey lets out a ferocious growl as he says, “Their slut Queen has clung to life. She yet raises a _son_.”

Loki knows that he must act soon if he will ever know the crown of Jotunheim.

\--

Thor has seen many things in his time as a servant to the crown.

Waking to a knock on his door—for being promoted to kingsguard granted him actual private quarters—he padded over and opened it to the sight of Loki.

This was new.

“Prince?” he stumbles over the word as Loki walks past him, ruby eyes scanning the sparse environment.

He doesn’t know why Loki is here.

“You are allowed possessions now,” Loki tells him. His voice is soft, thoughtful.

“Aye, my lord.”

“Do call me Loki.”

Loki spins his hands and in one palm rests a dagger. It is engraved in runes twirling like vines along the hilt and Thor knows it is a handsome weapon.

Loki hands it to him.

“Please, take this as your first. I wish to see it at your side in times of turmoil.”

Thor’s hand hovers over the item, unsure. He does not know what Loki is asking of him and says so.

“I must be able to count on you when the time comes. Will do you this for me?” He smirks and in that smirk he knows that what Thor will see is a secret. A secret that, by the slight narrowing of eyes, Thor is already contemplating what Loki is up to. And Loki loves it.

Slaves do not think, no matter if they are poor and taken from the wastes or if they are bred for the kingsguard. Both are meant to obey and come to heel to the king, but Thor. Thor thinks.

“I cannot agree to what I do not fully know the details of.” Then, with some difficulty, “Loki.”

Loki brings a hand up over Thor’s and clasps the hand between his and the hilt until Thor is left holding the dagger. He squeezes firmly, then allows his fingers to trail up Thor’s arm.

He leans close and Thor can feel Loki’s cool breath fan across his cheek.

“I am asking of you a megalith of action, Thor. You will come to bend knee to many a deed at the will of our ruler, and my will is one I seek to seat upon that icy mantel. Now,” he says, turning his face until they lock eyes, “I am asking, will you pledge loyalty to me?”

Loki leans close and speaks against the column of Thor’s throat. “Or will I have to inquire elsewhere?”

Thor feels lips skim his, and is murmuring _yes_ even as he parts lips and tastes the prince’s tongue.

\--

It is within the following weeks that Thor notices change within the halls of his leader.

Laufey is restless and all around him see how he does not sleep, does not swive, and eats only the barest of meals. Thor sees him leave for the salt-poison of the wastes, the lands that are home to the fabled rivers all life was born of. He leaves, absent of guard and companion, for many born to royal blood  keep wolves for hunting and chasing down enemies. Laufey says not a word but to utter his destination and a single refusal to his guard.

He returns solemn and silent.

Thor has not spoken to Loki since his surprise visit in his new chambers. He sees Loki carry an air of thought, somehow cheery, during the time Laufey is away. It only serves to brighten upon his father’s return.

Thor dreams of Loki’s tongue sliding along his and feels the weight of his gifted dagger against his hip, more profound with impending trial with each passing day.

\--

It is another month before Thor understands what Loki meant.

The way it happens is Loki shows up in his room, barging through the door with curved blade a wicked, stained thing in his hand and splattered with drying blood. He’s wild-eyed and fierce and Thor feels his throat go dry.

“Ready yourself. The day of pledged loyalty is upon thee.”

When a loud roar raises high and guttural in the distance, followed by the shaking of the very realm, Loki smiles a cruel, clever split of the mouth.

\--

In the aftermath, Thor will come to know the smell of blood freezing on the ice, staining the ground and the snow and covering the realm in a film of slick pink. The battle of king versus son was long and ruined and seemed to span the length of the world.

But it is in fact only the palace and the nearest tribes who know there was an uprising.

Loki stands beside him, the lithe muscles lining his arms and back tense and pulled taut as he steps over the carnage of fallen beasts. Giants the size of the palace columns, and as carved into as the ice itself.

Laufey is dead on his throne, heart torn out of his chest. A large splatter of gore paints the ice beneath their feet and Loki holds a bright crown. He grabs it firm between the fingers of one hand and lets it hang at his side as he casts his gaze over his handiwork.

Loki brings the crown up and shatters it against the edge of the throne, and to Thor’s surprise, looks pleased.

“I am King now,” he says.

Those still alive, Byleister, some kingsguard, a vast array of slaves and warriors alike—

They nod and grunt and move on with their day.

\--

“Why give in so easily?” Thor asks some days later, when Loki is in his room and skimming his fingers over Thor’s fast-growing collection of random items. Loki fingers an old tome and flips over the cover, gently, reverently. “They simply walked away, scrubbing the blood from their skin.”

“It is Jotunheim’s way. A crown won in battle is a crown fairly earned. I delivered the killing blow and thus am I standing, unchallenged. Though to be honest,” he says as he flips the page, “I cannot say for how long.”

Thor bites his lower lip and crosses his hands behind his head. He lies on his furs, an allowance Loki-king generously gives. It is odd, just how lax Loki is in treating Thor. But he never questions it. He never pushes.

Though Loki can sense his shift and mood and, flipping the next page, says, “Say what your mind pesters you with.”

“It would be uncouth to utter,” Thor murmurs, closing his eyes.

Loki is much closer when, a moment later, Thor opens his eyes. Loki stands over him, staring and brow raised in curiosity. Thor knows the look and so shifts over. Loki sits, a leg drawn in to press foot to thigh as he places a hand on Thor’s arm.

“Come now, Thor. Surely you trust your King.”

Thor swallows and feels the shiver of Loki’s fingers trail along his ribs. “Loki, I cannot say.”

Loki leans over him, mouth a gentle curve and horns a looming shadow. A hand moves to weave long fingers through his hair, and Thor leans into the touch, though he still worries his lip.

“If I were a soldier under Laufey...if I was not loyal to you...” And here, Loki touches his forehead to Thor’s and Thor finds difficulty gathering his thoughts. “If I had been left alive, I would have rather died fighting than left to walk away, listless.”

Loki hums, kissing him, licking into his mouth. Thor sighs with it, bringing a hand to tangle in Loki’s long hair. It is a rarity among their kind to find such softness.

When Loki pulls back he is quiet, eyes lowered. He looks sad, though Thor does not understand why.

“It is good you are with me, then. That I have earned such unabashed trust from you, Thor.”

Thor is kissing Loki again before he can think of how brazen an act it is. But Loki smiles with it and moves to lie next to him. They press close and Thor lets go of his fear and wraps an arm around Loki’s waist, pulling them tight together. Loki moves his hips against Thor’s lazily, fingers pulling through his hair.

“Thor,” he says. “ _Thor_.”

\--

He tells himself it is alright to be so intimate with a once-slave. To lie in his bed and watch with unblinking eyes the way Thor quietly slumbers. He mutters in his sleep, and shuffles close when Loki trails his fingers down his chest experimentally.

Teasing the waters, he whispers, “Who do you obey, Thor?”

It takes a moment but then Thor’s voice is a quiet rush of air. “Loki.” He mumbles the name once more and turns onto his stomach, forcing Loki to shift his hand away if he does not wish to be found out.

“Very good,” he murmurs, lips tight.

Joy, he feels immense joy.

\--

Thor does not question Loki-king. For Loki is Loki, and though he has since proven a somewhat disinterested leader, lax in the palace upkeep, he watches all things with a hawk’s eyes. He is a sharpened talon waiting to puncture the skin of any who dare challenge him. Thor knows it would not be to their knowledge, not entirely.

Thor has seen in the past weeks that Loki is a clever, slimy creature. He slinks about his own palace, using the towering ice structures and his own seidr to hide himself, and oftentimes Thor, from view. Byleister is a silent pillar these days, and Loki enjoys weaving beneath his legs and pinching his ankle as a joke as they pass by.

They go to the libraries that Loki has since built up. He once told Thor that Laufey kept them filthy, covered in dust and left to the ice-worms that leave frost over the pages, ruining them.

“Angrboda keeps watch over the tomes, for I would have them treated as the treasures they are. Jotunheim could do with some reading,” Loki tells him in explanation as he loads Thor with stacks of books and scrolls. They make countless trips, shielded from the sight of the curious Jotun wandering about.

Loki is King and yet...yet he still must hide.

Thor does not like it. He thinks they should love their King as he does.

The thought is so sudden he trips and sends books and scrolls scattering, the already delicate paper turning to ash in his arms. Loki looks ready to kill him.

But Thor smiles to soften his mistake, and climbs to his feet, embarrassed but also slightly in shock. He knows Loki sees right through him.

He had always been mocked as a boy for his emotions. He was a clear slate of ice in that respect, and always had been. Strange, for a Jotun, they would say.

Loki smacks his arm and mumbles curses at him and bends to help Thor gather the texts that survived the fall. Thor watches the way Loki’s eyes dart about the smattering of ash and listens to how he sighs heavily, saddened.

“Priceless,” he breathes.

Loki is a strange thing himself, and so Thor thinks it is a good thing they found each other.

\--

Loki enjoys playing with Thor’s hair.

“Silver...so odd.”

“You have hair as well, it is not entirely so strange,” says Thor in admonishment. Loki snorts and works a braid loose before starting it over.

Thor has grown bold with his King in the last few months.

“I will have a guard collect rubies and sapphires from Angrboda. I should like to think that the colors suit you. Then I will weave them into your hair. If you had any horns to speak of, I would have looped fine gold chain between them.”

Thor feels a twist in his stomach. He does not much like Angrboda. He is a rune weaver as Loki is, and goes silent often. Thor sees him watching Loki often and it does not sit right in his gut.

Thor is lying between Loki’s outstretched legs, head on his chest. He kneads the muscle of Loki’s thighs and can hear the tiny hums of pleasure Loki lets out. It serves to soothe Thor’s troubling thoughts.

“Your hair looks like snow in the right light.”

Loki is strange like that too. He offers up small off-handed comments. They’re disorienting and all too comfort inducing. It’s addicting in that Loki hardly spares a word past giving commands to his guard or those who serve him. They are words only Thor is allowed, and it warms him.

Thor wonders why Loki chose him, aside from the obvious size similarity.

He stills his hands. “I thought you hated me for a long time.”

Loki does not stop braiding his hair. He doesn’t miss a beat. “When was this?”

“When we were boys, after the war. I don’t remember much of it, but you often treated me—”

“As a slave?”

Thor sighs and Loki finally ceases his braiding.

“We were boys, and I a prince. It is hardly fair to judge one in the present of their self in the past.”

Thor shrugs, the point in the conversation seeming entirely too diminished to continue with it.

Loki encloses Thor in his arms. “Why say you these things? Have I upset you with talk of your snowy tresses?”

It draws a quiet laugh from Thor and he feels lighter for it. “I just do not know why you are...why you do all this. With me.”

“I like you,” he says, as if it is the simplest thing.

Then Loki tilts Thor’s head back to kiss him, and Thor realizes that yes, it is. It is very simple.

\--

Loki has been a quiet, peaceful, plotting thing the last few months and so Thor had almost forgotten just what such a beast his lithe frame held at bay.

They’re walking to the council room, a large ice dome with light seeping through the crafted cracks in the ceiling. Angrboda is being appointed a member, and they were headed there to see it begun.

But then Loki whispers the same jumble of words he often uses when they walk the palace. They are hidden, he knows, when Loki grabs his shoulders and then drives him back against a large column.

Loki is kissing him, rutting against him, and Thor is already undoing the intricate latticework of the leather he wears at his waist. Loki simple shoves Thor’s down his thighs, nearly ripping the seams of leather twine in the process.

Loki thrusts up into Thor’s hand, panting harshly against his neck as he digs sharp nails into the swell of his shoulders. He begins to bite when Thor snakes a hand around and presses a finger against him, all hot pressure.

Loki presses a palm to his mouth and wets it, then wraps it around the proud curve of where Thor’s cock nudges his belly. He slicks him and hitches up a thigh and Thor grabs himself. He hoists Loki up and shifts them around so he can slide into Loki against the withstanding ice. He fills Loki and Loki groans, long and low, tugging on Thor’s hair.

It’s a quiet rush of harsh breaths and muttered curses and groans into each other’s necks. They try to be quiet about it, try to reign in the pleasure of Loki clawing at Thor’s back and Thor nearly ruining him with powerful jerks of his hips. Loki is hot in his hand as Thor grasps him, always a heady, addicting thing in comparison to the rest of their cool flesh, and squeezes long strokes that have Loki almost sobbing against his throat.

Loki keens into his skin and sucks and bites until Thor feels the sting of pain and then is coming, filling Loki and almost crushing him against the ice.

Loki smiles into a last kiss, running his hands slowly over Thor’s shoulders.

\--

The procession is quick and filled with little talk. Angrboda receives a blade of steel and a quill of rare waste-salt and thus is he a member of the council.

He smiles as Loki hands him the quill, fingers brushing Loki’s carefully.

Loki arches both brows and snatches his hands away, and it is that action alone that has Thor biting his tongue.

No, Thor does not like Angrboda at all.

\--

He envies you, Thor thinks as Loki pants beneath him.

They’re on the floor of Loki’s chambers, the furs beneath Loki’s back wrinkling with Thor’s thrusts. He drives into him carelessly, harshly, and Loki is loud and reckless with it. He spills twice before Thor finds his release and it’s a gush of warmth through him, and then, after, again. Again, again, again—

He watches you and seeks after your flesh, I know because I look after you the same, Thor’s mind whispers to him. He sucks along a raised line on Loki’s chest and Loki sighs his name.

He wishes to take you against his wall, his bed, his floor, Thor thinks, driving into Loki and gripping his hips hard enough that he aims to expect bruises to form in the morning.

No, Thor thinks. No, you are mine, you are mine—

“Loki,” he groans out and his thoughts give way to the distraction of flesh and Loki, Loki...

“You’re mine,” he whispers and Loki laughs brightly with it, thighs trembling in the after.

\--

The letter comes by raven, a massive, swollen blackness in the sky. It flies about the palace for hours and Loki knows what it is without really _knowing_.

He glances to where Thor still sleeps swaddled in furs. He decides not to wake him just yet as the raven begins to dip lower and lower through the foggy murk.

It lands on the balcony of Loki’s room and Loki is there to greet the creature.

It pecks at Loki’s hand with its large beak for a moment while Loki rubs a finger along its head. Its eyes glow in a menacing way and they follow his movements with a knowing that is almost eerie.

He takes the message attached to its thin, wrinkled leg and breaks the pretty wax that seals it shut.

Loki is not past the first word before he starts over to Thor, fully intending the day to be made theirs.

\--

“Asgard? Why now? After all this time. Surely, they must have heard the news of Laufey’s fall.”

Loki considers Byleister’s words and nods. He shrugs.

It is only the council, his only remaining brother, and Thor there to hear his words. They hang on the moment, waiting for his command. It’s grown to be a giddy thing within him, and Loki must often remind himself not to let it consume him. To grow cocky with such a realm under heel as Jotunheim is to plunge a knife into your own chest.

“Frigga tells of her son, of her realm. She tells of how Asgard has not forgotten Jotunheim’s march but still wishes to uphold the bind between realms as the Ash still yet stands.” Loki pauses and thinks on the brazen words in that letter. It was a strange letter indeed, to inquire after peace barely a century past a great war. “We do as I once suggested, only now there will be no need for secrecy. Not so soon.”

He has been waiting for this.

Loki knows that without Laufey, Asgard sees a foothold, sees a chance at appealing to a different mind. They have never known Loki, but they will learn.

He was a babe even as his father returned. Laufey cast him off as soon as he laid eyes on him, and that was simply as it was. Loki killed him and he was content in that end. He has never seen Asgard. Thor has never seen Asgard. He looks about the faces of those gathered and knows only Byleister and Angrboda and a handful of the others have known the Great Triumph, and few remember the greatest of wars, when Aesir and Vanir traded heads and get and made union along beaches of violet and poesy.

Loki knows he is only remembering words he’d once read in books and scorns himself for it.

“We will go there, and we will see the progress of their growth. Then we shall return and I will go back myself and see to it that we learn to construct our own Bifrost. Perhaps their fabled libraries still stand and there will be some treasures to be gained in knowledge.”

“They are a broken realm, it is hardly worth such trouble. Let us go and freeze them,” his brother says.

“I am not dull of mind as Laufey was, brother,” Loki counters. Byleister bites his tongue. “I know how to get what I want and I will have it. Our realm will grow for my toil.”

Angrboda speaks up then. “I wish to see their gems. They are said to have jade, and I’ve only ever held such color in my hands a scant few times in my long life.”

“And they will have tomes on ancient seidr, surely. I know Laufey did not bother destroying their books. He never had need of them.” Loki hums. “What think you, Thor? Care to join us?”

Loki smiles and Thor nods. When he turns back around, Loki notices that Angrboda is giving Thor the strangest of looks.

Loki wonders at it.

“I would like to see their armories,” says Thor from beside him. Loki knows it is because Thor has a weak spot for all weaponry. He enjoys training and tiring his limbs, packing on muscle. Loki knows it is also in part for his complete lack of seidr. He cannot even summon the ice, and it is often a thought that saddens Loki.

He pats Thor’s knee beneath the barrier of the table, hidden from the other’s eyes. He squeezes and Thor relaxes somewhat. He is also watching Angrboda, a careful, subtle scowl in place.

Loki could command Angrboda to speak his mind there and then, but he does not. He would rather wait and learn the truth of it over time. There is no reason for such studious observation and so he suspects the reason would be pleasurable to wheedle out over time. Jotunheim is often a boring place and so he takes pleasure in what small mischief he can find.

“When do we leave?” Byleister asks.

“I will return the raven with a reply, and we will journey out when the first stars appear in the sky. We will be the sweetest guests Asgard has ever had the pleasure of knowing. We will talk softly, take up as little room as we are able, and we will be courteous where Laufey was a terror. We will eat their food, bear their sun, and sleep in beds they say are filled with the feathers of fat foul. We will listen, we will learn.”

There are nods and some huffs of disbelief of those gathered. He raises a brow and offers up a grin.

“Then we will take everything.”

\--

It is an unsaid thing when he and Thor leave the hall together, obviously taking the corridor that will lead to Loki’s chambers. It is simply how things are. Red eyes trail after them, curious only enough to not give the brother of their king reason to pull out their tongues.

Thor is Loki’s and that is just what is.

\--

“Yours, yours, _Thor_ , I—” Loki chokes on a cry and cranes his neck back, fingers squeezing into Thor’s back as he rocks hasty hips back and forth.

Thor hears the words, they echo through his mind, he wants to hear Loki, wants to hear him say it. Wants to know for certain.

Loki surges forward then, hips stuttering, legs locked firm against Thor’s thighs and he wraps an arm tight around Thor’s neck, hugging him close as he spills. Thor continues thrusting up in easy stride, and it has Loki shaking before long.

“Oh, Thor,” Loki murmurs fondly into his hair.

\--

After, Loki lies on a fur and watches Thor dress. He stands in front of a thin sheet of ice that Loki managed to conjured a reflection in and serve as a mirror. Thor sets to braiding his hair away from his ears so that it will fit neatly beneath his helm.

Loki says, “You will go with me on my return. I think it will be best.”

“Aye,” Thor agrees. “I don’t like the thought of you alone in a realm of those who seek revenge, no matter how many years have passed.”

Loki smirks. Thor’s undying loyalty has become such an absolute thing that it sets his heart to racing too often to keep track of. “With Odin dead I hardly think such a thing will transpire. They must have thoughts of it, yes, but I doubt they would dare act upon me.”

“They will not expect you.”

“Because I am small.”

“As am I. It will confuse them probably.”

“You know, Thor, you’re smarter than others think. It’s quite a humbling trait, I must tell you.” Thor huffs at him and Loki chuckles, stretching out onto his stomach. “I am hoping that their bafflement at us will distract from the sight of the others. They are menacing things, and I know they will grow restless being surrounded by Aesir. They would rather eat a wolf pelt than socialize with an enemy.”

“I can hardly blame them. I do not like the prospect myself.”

Loki considers him, frowning slightly. He enjoys learning about other realms, but has not been able to travel to them. Thor has never shared this wanderlust as fully as Loki, and it’s one of a few inconsequential things that bothers him about Thor. But small as they are, he does not let these small slights niggle him too much, for he has larger plans to fill out.

One such treasure Loki truly wishes to seize upon their journey to Asgard is the Bifrost. He has read about so many worlds, has crafted them so fully in his mind, but has never been able to travel to any of them. Laufey had many failures and few triumphs. Asgard was mixture of both, for his father was at once wise and wholly foolish when it counted. He could not empty the Vault of Odin and did not kill Frigga-queen. He did not seek to destroy the Bifrost as it was their way home, but neither had Laufey put any thought into taking it. Taking the knowledge of it, the _how_.

Loki wants to see the worlds beyond the endless plains of snow and ice and salt and he wants to taste them. He wants them all.

“We will go and appease the others by staying a while to see just what Asgard has been up to. We will be peaceful, show the Asgardians we mean only the utmost of respect. If we can wrangle a trade of goods, that would be even better. I have heard that their apples are quite the divinity.”

“Fresh salt-squid should be coming in today. I will have the others freeze some,” Thor tells him. He huffs at a braid and pulls it loose. Loki gets up and walks to him, takes his hair himself.

“And leather, salt-twine, some silk we still have from Alfheim eons ago. They should appreciate we still have some things of the past when once all realms were still connected. I’ll pack a few things myself. I wonder if they’ve ever seen whale bone before.” He smiles to Thor in the mirror. “Gifts delivered by a King. They should be pleased.” Loki finishes the braid and moves on to the next.

“Yes,” Thor says.

“I am curious about her child. Laufey once said she’d been raising a son. I wish to know how large he’s grown, and if he has any inclination to follow his father’s footsteps.”

Thor tilts his head. “The letter said nothing of him?”

“Only that the Queen yet upholds the strive for peace. She wishes to see all realms kind to one another. It is all honk on her part, and everyone knows it.”

“It’s very odd.”

“Yes, it is. That is why, after we are through accepting their false kindness and take in their fancy, uplifting empty words that we will return, just us, to see to the real task.”

“And that is?” asks Thor, turning to him.

Loki touches his cheek. “Mimir.”

\--

Loki seeks knowledge.

He will have it.

\--

Asgard is a lush valley and rolling hills and towering spires of goldwork.

Loki loves it already.

The others do not.

“We really should have frozen the place over, eh?” one warrior says, nudging another in the arm. The other grunts and glares at the city that lies in the distance.

Loki had expected nothing less. It is why he plans for two trips.

Thor is a silent, observing presence beside him. His years as a child and slave were ones of quiet and obedience and those he’s since spent as a guard to Loki have allowed him some room to breathe. Though he is still rather quiet around others. Loki much prefers the boisterous, raunchy Thor to the peering one. He is glad it is his Thor that is the real Thor.

Angrboda flanks them, trailing behind a ways and keeping a reasonable barrier between the Asgardian guards that greet them, front and back, at the Bifrost. It is a bridge of aching, pulsing colors that stretch what seems an eternity, birthing from a spinning, whirring globe of gold and runework. Loki finds it all magnificent, and feels his tongue go thick with the wonder of it.

“The heat is...nice,” Thor comments. Loki finds it hindering and unpleasant, and gives him a quirked brow. But Thor shrugs and Loki lets it go.

“You are an odd breed, Thor.”

Loki has always wondered what an Aesir looks like. In the books, they are painted with white or yellow for skin and hair both. The warriors he’s questioned say they are indeed pale, easily broken things. They are fragile, and small, and worthless...Loki stopped asking his wonderings when he realized at a young age that what they described almost exactly described him as well.

He wishes to know if his plan will work, if the image he has conjured of them holds true.

The guards that lead them over the flickering bridge are covered head to foot in armor and drapery. Their faces are covered in low helms and a veil about the chin. Perhaps they had developed some sort of aversion to their own sun in the years following the war, and Loki thinks it a funny irony.

But that proves not to be the case. The Queen herself stands tall to meet them at the edge of the bridge, just at the gates to the shining city. It would be fair to say they have done a fair job rebuilding...from what was before, Loki knows not. It is simply that is stands impressive. Loki can scarce feel the realm has suffered at all. Yet it is only a feeling he has, and has not yet seen inside.

Frigga is pale with yellow hair and shining blue eyes. She bears her arms under sheathes of fine golden and white silk and has, oddly enough, a sword at her hip. Loki has never heard of a female warrior, other than the fabled Valkyries. And even then he knows they are women of legend, made out to be ghosts who scour the battlefield and scavenge the slain for their shining halls.

Loki has never given much thought to the taste of Asgardian lore. He finds it ill-suited and fanciful to the true taste of battle. He cut Laufey’s heart from his chest and saw no shining light, no glory of victory other than his own roaring triumph over the once-king. He certainly saw no woman on a steed descend and deliver Laufey’s soul to any far away golden mead hall.

Aside from her, there’s two guards and a young man just to the side. He has brown hair and a strong jaw and is taller than Loki.

Even in Asgard, he thinks with some level of scorn.

Loki bows, chains dangling from the proud curve of his horns and his men follow suit. He see Thor’s silver hair out of the corner of his eyes.

Frigga is smiling as they straighten and she inclines her head in return.

“Welcome to Asgard, King, it is an honor to meet you.”

“I thank you, sweet Lady,” Loki says, lips curving. “I must say the honor is entirely mine.”

\--

“They look odd.”

“As ever.”

“They are too light, it’s strange to the eyes. And their arms are...thin.”

Thor listens to the others squawk and complain about where they now find themselves. They sit in the hall of what was once Odin’s, eating at a long wooden table. Thor has never seen so much metal and gold and wood and misses the ice despite his fascination with this new world.

The heat makes him sweat, but it reminds him of the most rigorous of training and he feels comfort in that. The others mutter and grumble over it. Thor can see their fingers twitch to summon thin ice to the tips of their fingers, trailing them over their faces and necks when they think the Asgardians cannot see them.

Thor bears it, reveling in the strangeness of it all.

\--

They enjoyed Loki’s gifts and accepted the trade for what it was. In turn, Frigga-queen told them they could expect an envoy of goods to bring back with them to their realm.

Angrboda smiles for it.

\--

Loki has been locked in counsel with Frigga and the man from before. They learn that he is the son they’ve been so curious about.

It’s been hours.

\--

When Loki returns he is smiling amicably. He takes Frigga’s hand and kisses it, to Thor’s surprise. He has never known Loki to show such courtesy.

She smiles kindly at him and there they stand, side by side.

She turns and regards the Jotnar gathered and Thor finds those light eyes land on him. The smile softens for a reason unknown to him, and she inclines her head just barely before disappearing back inside.

Loki walks to them and announces their departure to the happy groans of the others.

\--

Angrboda is an eager presence at Loki’s side the entire walk back. They do not see the Queen or her son again. Thor learns from Loki that he is called Balder.

“The Beautiful,” Loki had laughed. It was the laugh that he only gave Thor, quiet and breathed into the curve of his neck. “What utter bullhonk.”

Angrboda then wormed his way between Thor and nearly pushed him out of the way to inquire about the loot they’d earned.

‘Twas not loot, Thor thought, if given freely in trade.

Loki obliges the large Jotun in that he stays quiet as he talks. Thor wants to push Angrboda over the edge of the shining, colorful bridge.

Then Angrboda touches Loki’s shoulder with the tips of large fingers, talking about some nonsense of gems and fruit and silk.

And Loki lets him.

Thor is glaring ahead, silent, when they reach the golden orb of the Bifrost site. He wishes to be done with the shining realm altogether. He wishes to return home, push Loki into the furs of his chambers and fuck him until he’s begging—

“Thor?”

It is Loki there, beside him. His brow is raised in something like concern, but Thor knows that look. Loki has used that clever brow in many persuasions, but he will not relent this time.

He knows Loki is aware of his mood. Good.

Loki places a gentle touch to his bare lower back and rubs his thumb there, once. Then the light is pulling them away.

He turns and sees Angrboda regarding the touch with a mirthless glower.

\--

It is not ten feet past the swirling, disorienting light that Thor finds Angrboda has yet again pushed Thor aside to talk at their King.

“Back, tome-master! You remember your place before your King!” Thor growls at him.

Loki is wide eyed, mouth a small oval in what looks to be surprise. But Thor knows Loki had most likely already thought of this outcome.

“Be away, tiny one. I wish to discuss establishing trade routes with Loki-king.” He raises his chin, as if he had any need to. “You are but a guard with no clever words to be made. Be gone, idle away your iceless day in silence and let us converse in peace.”

“You go too far.”

By now, the others have stopped walking. Snow is falling and covers their skin and armor where they stand. Angrboda turns fully to face Thor now, realizing his defensive stance.

“You know it unwise to challenge me.”

“I’ve fought bigger,” Thor tells him.

“What? Your stance is poor and you have fought no true battles. You more often stand upon your third leg when it suits your needs than you do trying to wield the ice. Ever wonder why that is?”

Thor is shocked to be so accused, so openly. The cruel, clever smirk that Angrboda wears is entirely focused on Thor and Thor feels a weight descend upon him.

But the other giant is not finished. “Your cock summons more purpose than your useless snow-summons. You’re but a whore when you have need of a meal.”

Thor is about to charge when Loki says, tone hinting fury, “Now you go too far. You insult your King with such accusation.”

Almost immediately does Angrboda hang his head, remembering who exactly it is he speaks in front of. Loki is a menacing thing then and swivels on his heel to pause and regard each of those gathered. They are all severe and silent.

“Go and stock our wares,” he commands the guard. They are relieved to be freed from the tension, dragging the heavy gifts from Asgard with them. Angrboda does not go with them for Loki still holds him in a steady gaze. “If you touch me again I will have your eyes. It would be a pity to have such exotic gems ripped from the joy of sight, would it not?”

“Yes, King.”

“If I see you in the palace within the next fortnight I will take those gems the Queen saw fit to relinquish and cast them in the deep black sea. Go.”

Angrboda does and then it is only he and Thor left in the snow, silent and withstanding.

“He dared to name me whore to the King. I should have removed his tongue.”

Loki lets out a dark bark of laughter at that. He turns and nears Thor enough to reach out and tug on a lock of hair.

“You are no whore. If you were, you’d be sleeping on a pile of gold smelted by my own hand.”

Thor is silent and Loki tugs his hair again, until it has Thor smiling.

“Come, let us gather some supplies and be on our way soon.” Loki leans in and knocks his forehead against Thor’s, carefully avoiding knocking him with his horns. He smirks and murmurs, “Perhaps we have time enough to see that third leg to its use.”

Thor gives him a slight shove and he is finally laughing.

\--

It is when he slips from Thor’s rooms, Thor still asleep, intending to bring them an early morning meal of fish and eel before their second journey, that he stops short.

“You dare defy my command,” Loki hisses to the resolute Angrboda.

The Jotun is standing there against the opposite wall, having obviously waited for whenever Loki would show his face.

Or Thor, he thinks.

“You spare breath on a lost cause, King.”

How dare he, Loki thinks.

“Your place is far below where you now try to climb. Step down, Angrboda. I do not wish to kill you.”

“With what?” But he quiets and raises his hands in mock surrender. “I merely imply that you should take the time to think on such a union. He was once a slave, was he not?”

“Aye,” Loki bites out.

“Then why sully your winning over Laufey by pairing with him? The boy cannot even freeze the snow that falls from the sky into ice. He has no pride upon his brow. He is beneath you.”

“Hold. Your. Tongue.”

Angrboda goes silent then, and inclines his head.

Loki gathers his breath, voice low. “You served my father for an eon. You knew Odin once. You have seen the realms raise from the ash, have you not? And yet, not once, have you challenged for the throne. You dare not try for the power. You’d rather slink in shadow and take stock of what transpires around you. You collect your pretty trinkets and read old books again and again, dusting away the ice-rot, and for _what_?”

Angrboda has sense enough to at least appear shamed. But Loki knows a lie when he is presented with one.

“You are a waste of the very air you breathe. I have half a mind to do what my father and his before could not, and leave you to the far wastes. Let you suckle ancient poison-salt from the beast-kin to ancient Audhumla.”

Angrboda raises a ridged brow. “You always were creative.”

“Why are you here, lurking? One would think you plot.”

“Sleep often evades those carrying old secrets,” he says, smug in a way Loki cannot place.

“Everyone has secrets they carry. Handle the burden elsewhere. I do not wish to trip over you when I have need of a piss.”

Angrboda shifts and folds his arms. “You are not curious of what my secret is?”

“I have many curiosities and not one is directed at you or your late night hauntings.”

“Not even for one that brought me to _his_ door?”

“If you wish to challenge Thor and vie for his life, do it when the hour is reasonable and I have not the need of him for a journey. Face him as a giant and state your challenge for what it is, as is the tradition.”

“It is not he I wish to challenge.”

Loki goes very still and considers Angrboda. He had thought the Jotun pushing boundaries only because he fancied Loki. Not that he wanted his place. He does not want the throne. He has not challenged it in many millennia, and will not. It makes no sense. Loki knows he cannot kill him outright, on his own.

Where is my brother when I need him, he thinks in frustration.

“And neither is it you. I merely wish to allow you a chance at foresight. The burden of a realm is a distraction none can match, and you have thus been blind to—”

“You are being ludicrous and unreasonable. There is no secret to be had. What, did he poke a whale when Laufey found him? I hardly think there is such a darkness following Thor that you have need to be so concerned.”

Angrboda just watches him, then inclines his head. He mutters an apology for the late night disturbance and continues down the way he must have come.

Loki knows all of Thor’s memories, he knows of every story, inside and out. There is no lie the other can slip past Loki, the nature is simply not his. How can such an easily read, easily smiling creature carry such a secret behind him?

There is no way, he thinks, and continues to the kitchen.

When he returns, Thor is on his stomach snoring lightly. Loki sets the food down, in the wooden bowls they’d been given in Asgard.

He stands before Thor, watching him sleep. Some time passes that he feels his legs ache and so he reaches forward and touches Thor’s cheek gently, rousing him. Thor smiles when his sight focuses and he kisses the back of Loki’s hand, bringing a hand up to loosely grasp Loki’s fingers.

Loki smiles weakly, his gut trembling. “I’ve brought us food.”

\--

They lie together once more before seeing themselves off. They lie facing each other, lips skimming jaws and necks and ghosting over cheeks and foreheads. Thor shivers and Loki can feel it all the way to where Thor slides both of them through a fist, tight and slow. Loki sucks in quick breaths that leave him ragged and ruined and his hands find purchase in the long silver spilling over Thor’s back.

They say little, and they go slow. Loki can feel his stomach tremble when Thor whispers hot breath against his cheek.

“Loki. My King, my Loki...”

They are easy words that spill fond and sweet from Thor’s mouth, and so Loki kisses them away.

\--

They stand at the edge of the icy plain the Bifrost deposited them on the day prior. They are dressed in long, sweeping cloaks of grey and wear tunics and pants and boots from Asgard. It feels strange, and the material itches in the worst of places. Thor does not find them agreeable in the least.

Loki regards the sky, calculating some sort of magic, Thor knows. He palms the hilt of the axe strapped to his side. “It will be sweltering in these clothes when we arrive. I know I said I found the heat pleasant, but dressed as we are, we will melt.”

Loki shushes him and keeps staring up at the murky sky, stars peeking through.

“I thought you were going to hide us from the Asgardians’ sight?” Thor says.

“We _will_ be hidden. I will conceal us in a moment, let me have silence until then. I still must map the path we seek.”

“How have you learned to travel, anyhow? You were worried of it before.”

Loki purses his lips. “I uncovered hints while in conversation with the Queen of Asgard. Her son likes to talk. Now Thor, please do be quiet.”

And so Thor waits.

Thor is crouching in the snow, cloak flapping behind him in the mild wind when Loki finally sighs. He turns and spies Thor there on the ground.

“What are you doing?”

Thor straightens to standing, embarrassed. Loki smirks at him and then is taking Thor’s face in between his hands. His palms begin to radiate some sort of heated tingle, and Thor almost startles from it.

“Shh,” he soothes. “This will be our guise. It will be a single burn and then we will be hidden from sight.”

Thor relaxes and closes his eyes, waiting as the heat spreads. It grows to unbearable before he lets out a gasp and then, just like that, it is gone. He knows it is different than when Loki conceals them around the palace.

He opens his eyes to find Loki staring at him with something he would dare to call wonder. He fears for a moment Loki has failed, that he has deformed him somehow. He palms at himself, his chest, his arms, his legs. Nothing is different.

“What? What is it?” Thor asks, worried.

“Your silver hair...” It’s almost mournful, how Loki says it.

Thor eyes him for Loki is acting odd, and then he sets to taking a closer look at himself. The first he sees are not his hands but the skin of a pale Aesir. It forces him back a step and he would have tripped had Loki not gripped his elbow steady. He takes up his hair and pulls it into view and sees not silver but yellow.

“Loki...?” he questions, heart racing.

Loki laughs, bright and trilling in the wind. “Ah, I had feared it would not work. But look at you! You look just like one of them!”

“No, I do not like it. Change me back.”

Loki only laughs and sets to changing himself. The process is faster and seemingly without the spread of such staggering heat as Loki barely blinks upon his transformation.

Green eyes peer back at him and Thor wonders what color his own eyes have been changed to.

“This is all too strange.”

“You say that about most magic,” says Loki. His tongue is still the peeking pink thing it has always been, there between his teeth as he throws back his head and laughs joyfully.

Thor finds Loki is still a beauty, even covered in the milky tone of flesh. He has some light spots about his arms and Thor wonders what they are and why he has them at all. The most staggering realization is that his proud, curling horns are gone. Vanished entirely.

Thor passes a hand in the air before them, above Loki’s head and Loki falls into his chest. His laughter is muffled by Thor’s cloak.

“You look entirely too in awe, Thor. You should close your mouth before some Asgardian foul wanders into it.

Thor shakes his head slowly, still staring at all that is different about Loki. “You are truly a remarkably powerful worker of seidr if you are able to alter us so completely.”

Thor glances down when Loki stills in his grasp.

“Your cheeks are red.”

“What?” Loki asks.

Thor touches his face. “They’re red. Are you alright, Loki?”

Loki just purses his lips and looks away. He mutters something and turns and Thor follows him.

They stand at the precipice of where the light of the Bifrost would land, he knows and Loki looks to the stars once more.

“How will we return there?”

Loki holds up his arms, fingers splayed wide on each hand. He mutters low and fast and Thor can feel the air stir about them.

“I have only to pull the stars to our favor, dearest Thor. The rest will follow. Grab onto my waist, I do not wish to lose you.”

Thor wraps his arms around Loki instead and feels the world fall away.

\--

They arrive not at the golden orb of the Bifrost but in an orchard.

The first thing Thor does is fall to the side and wretch, dry heaving. Loki is there, hand soothing where it rests against the back of his head.

“It will be easier with time...” Loki soothes.

“We’re doing this _again?_ ” Thor gasps, trying to calm his racing heart.

Loki doesn’t answer him but is still standing there when Thor finally rises to his feet.

“The air is...”

“Still hot, unfortunately. I will have to find a way to change that.” Loki wears a frown of concentration, one he often has when studying new seidr.

Thor was going to say cool. The sensation is strange though not unpleasant, and so he holds his tongue.

\--

“These are what you’ve told me about? From your books...flowers?” Thor questions Loki sometime later. He is watching the ground, taking note of the many colors and petals he sees, and Loki hums his affirmation.

They are walking down a dirt path that weaves through the many trees. Loki picks fruit as he goes, vanishing the rare treats for later. They are all shades of green and yellow and red, and they feel slick and new in his palm. When he cannot help but bite into one, he turns on Thor and shoves it into his hand.

“Eat this, it’s glorious.”

Thor does and goes wide eyed. Their first trip had been filled with a small tour of various things, mentions and descriptions with missing items. Loki knows apples for they are a delicacy in Jotunheim. But they are often grey and soft and have not the sour snap these apples do.

They gather many, all vanished away to where Loki will know to grab them again.

Thor hands him some flowers to hide away as well.

Softhearted fool, Loki thinks, hidden beneath all that strength.

It is not too much longer before they are upon a weathered path, made distinct by the sounds of life and the stamp of feet. Civilians tramp about, peasants Loki suspects. They are dressed simply and poorly and carry baskets of food and crops.

Loki can see the arching spires of the golden palace in the far distance and is secretly pleased they will have time to see the city before devoting entirely to their task.

They pass through the hoard of people passing by, unused to such socialization. They stay close and watch for stray hands and knives. Loki knows his seidr has no flaw but still he fears the worst.

Thor spots a stall soon enough and drags Loki to it. It has trinkets and carvings of bone and wood and figures of gold and bronze. Loki sees jade further back of some fertility figure and he snorts at it.

They soon leave, having no local coin or item of worth to trade for the things.

Later down the road, Thor purses his lips and chides him gently for Loki presses the figure into his hand as they walk, free of charge.

\--

The women smile at them as they pass and Thor gathers a few stragglers.

Loki makes one trip into a wayward cart of hay and he laughs as Thor goes on, oblivious.

\--

They are stopped by a guard when they reached within fifty yards of the palace gates.

“We wish only to seek counsel from the Queen of Asgard,” Loki says, charming and demure with head bowed.

Thor thinks it an ill fitting thing on Loki, one born of such royal blood.

“Seek it elsewhere, peasant trollop is not tolerated beyond this point. Go.” And the armored Aesir shoves the butt of his speak at them.

Thor takes a step forward, intending to push past, when Loki stops him.

“Apologies, we did not realize.”

They turn and continue in the opposite direction, to Thor’s concern. He worries Loki has lost his head.

“You scheme, you must. Tell me you have not given up so easily.”

Loki scoffs. “Of course not, Thor. Do not be dumb.”

They round a corner of high plants, thick enough to support a person’s weight if leaned against. Loki grabs Thor’s arm and, looking around, sets to hiding them completely.

“Better to vanish entirely and have our way than be hindered unnecessarily.”

This time, they walk past the guard with no trouble at all.

\--

“The armory should be large enough to spot. We need only seek the sparring rings they so boast in their stories.”

Thor thinks that sometimes, it is as if Loki pines for Asgard. It is a fascination, and obsession with Loki. Jotunheim is at times dull, yes, and the others can be cruel to them for their size. It is true they do not have the colors or the flowers or the sweet fruit to grow. They have salt, and dark, and the casual meeting of flesh. They have their large looming moon and bright stars and fog. They have their ice palaces and snow and all manner of dark legend.

Thor also thinks Loki’s obsession is not entirely so misplaced. Thor finds the realm beautiful, addicting. Strange, indeed, but new. He wishes to explore it thoroughly without any other side quest.

“Ah, listen to the grunting and the clash of metal. You can almost smell the copper of blood.” Loki’s eyes are bright where he eyes ahead. A large building of stone and brick, and beyond that are flat fields of sands and the sounds of sparring. “Come, let us investigate.”

And so they do.

\--

The armory is a large building filled with more weaponry than Thor has ever dreamed of. Loki knows this for it is obvious in the way Thor runs his hands over the blades of swords and palms the shafts of spears and the hilts of axes. He eyes several round wooden shields with a metal boss and oh, Loki imagines it is truly a divine sight for his Thor.

Seasoned warriors, scarred and some missing fingers or marred with a heavy brow shrug by boys who look to be holding a sword for the first time in their lives. They are wide eyed and afraid of the blades they hold and Loki knows they would die if thrust into battle this moment. If Loki and Thor simply showed their true selves the children would either run or freeze and piss themselves while the older men charged and swung their blades high.

But they do nothing. They keep quiet and eye the scene that surrounds them. Life here is a swelling, magnificent, battle wrought thing, and Loki thinks it fitting in a way. There are smiles in a room of death where on Jotunheim there is only the grim silence of impending battle.

When there is a surge of sound of those returning from the sparring rings, Thor sidles close beside him. In Loki’s ear he whispers, “Is this the Vault we are so keen on? We did not manage to see it last time.”

“No,” Loki murmurs back. “This is but a training supply. The true armory of Odin would be somewhere none can reach. Somewhere deep and safe within the palace walls.”

“I see. Let me just...have a moment.”

Loki watches with amusement as Thor goes and, in the swell of those leaving, takes up a large axe. The blade is sharp and new and too heavy for the others, so abandoned. A shame, for such a fine weapon.

Loki smirks and vanishes it for him and Thor smiles broadly.

\--

Loki remembers the way from before and it is so, so easy to slip inside the palace. With such arching, open doorways and thresholds it is a wonder more do not seek to simply sneak in. Perhaps they do, but fail, and thus are banished. Loki knows not the wonderings or the fate of such transgressors in this world. Perhaps they are focused entirely on avenging Asgard and are eager for another war with Jotunheim. He does not know and he does not entirely care. He is here for a reason and one reason only...well perhaps two.

Thor is a cheerful, eager thing beside him, sunlight making his hair shine golden. Loki remembers his vow to weave rare gems in his hair and wants to do so even more so now that it is golden. It’s strange seeing such blue eyes meet his in place of red, but Loki knows Thor must find the sight of his appearance the same.

They weave through corridors and halls and pass through barriers blocked by guards, made unaware of their passing, and delve deeper and deeper into the palace. They choose the halls marked by what look to be old carvings in the golden floor, the golden pillars...gold, gold, and more gold. Loki suspects they would even shit the color if it suited them.

“If Asgard is this supple after a war as devastating as ours, I hardly dare think what the other realms must look like,” Thor comments beside him. They walk with haste and travel through another door.

There are more guards further on and Loki suspects they must be nearing their goal. “I wish to have seen it covered in ice, what it must have looked like after the war.”

“Aye,” Thor murmurs.

They go quiet as they slip past yet more guards. It is darker now, lit by the odd hanging lantern every so often, and a looming pressure seems to descend upon them. It is nothing more than the silence, absolute and pervading as it is. Loki knows that but still it is discomfiting.

“Reminds me of Jotunheim’s crypts,” Loki says and Thor nods, eyes trained ahead in the dark.

Then there is a presence that envelops Loki’s heart, vibrates through his chest, encloses about his mind, and he gasps for it. A voice, dark and lurking is there, in his head.

And Thor...Thor is on his knees beside him, hands on his ears.

“What is this?” Thor demands, voice too loud in the silence.

The whisperings are foggy and muddled and Loki cannot pinpoint any one word. The tongue of it is tired and old and weary and he feels fear as much as exhilaration.

Something dark mumbles his name and he knows then, who it is.

“Ancient Mimir,” he says, panting ragged breath. His heart is pounding. Thor has uncovered his ears and is watching Loki with wide, pleading eyes. He, too, is afraid. “Lead us to where we seek.”

“Please,” says Thor in the dark. Loki does not know to whom he speaks.

Loki pulls Thor to his feet, arm looped through his. Loki leads him further into the hall, the floor bleeding from gold to grey slate to metal. Steel planking is what it looks like, the longer they walk.

The murmuring is ever present, fading in and out and for the longest time Loki thinks of the wastes.

It is only when they come upon a large door with a clever assortment of locks and wheels that they stop and the voice of their once-kin vanishes.

It is Frigga there to greet them.

\--

Her eyes are the color of Thor’s, is the first thing Loki thinks as she takes the sight of them in. Her smile falters when she sees Thor, and then it fades.

She sighs and turns, pressing one hand each to a wheel.

And thus is the Vault opened.

\--

“Why?” Thor asks.

“I have family I must remember,” is her answer.

Loki does not like the way she says it, and he thinks then of Angrboda.

\--

“Your father nearly decimated our realm. Then he felled the Allfather and took all he could of Asgard’s wealth. He froze crops needed for the lower lands and used our own cooking oils to burn the farms next. He slew children or stole them. He took or destroyed most of what we have used to protect the realms for a thousand thousand eons.”

It is an unsaid allowance for them to simply walk the short way to the back of the Vault. Taking their time to peer at the items reclaimed, newly placed, or the two that had never been removed. Thor is immediately drawn to a short, crude hammer in the back, centered for those who have walked here to gaze upon. Items in view to lust after. Disgusting.

His father was one such being who lusted after such destruction.

“I am not my father,” Loki says, voice flat. He eyes the gauntlet. An ugly thing he often heard his father rave on and on about. “This one he failed to grasp, it was a great shame on his back. He often ranted over it.”

When he turns it is not he whom Frigga watches, but Thor. His fingers hover over the hilt of the hammer, hesitant.

“What is that?” Loki asks her briskly.

Frigga waits a beat. Then, “A hammer forged in the heart of a dying star, molded to a shattered hilt by the dwarves. It is a marvelous thing, a fury of life and death both.”

“Then I shall fancy a look upon it,” he says.

He wonders why Frigga does not object. Why she did simply stop them when they reached the door. He wonders many things.

“My King?” Thor says timidly when Loki nears him. He raises a brow at the tone of voice but does not refuse him.

Thor is about to grip the hilt when Frigga’s voice rings clear.

“Many may grasp old Mjolnir, but only one may wield it.”

“Cryptic wench,” Loki mutters under his breath.

Thor is biting his lip, eyes yearning. Loki can see the struggle in his eyes.

But, finally, Thor lowers his hands. Why, Loki does not know.

Frigga has her back to them and is sweeping towards the door when she calls out, “Let us share a meal, then.”

\--

It is most awkward, Thor thinks.

They sit there, across from one another between both heads of the table. Balder on one end and Frigga on the other. It is a strange thing indeed to see mother and son so gentle and quiet and amiable to such obvious foes. Traitors of their earlier kindness.

Thor cannot help but think what would be different if Odin still lived and reigned as King. Not only of Asgard, but of every realm.

The thought sits sour in his gut.

“How fares Jotunheim, Loki?” the Queen asks.

Thor can see Loki work his jaw at the lack of respect in the missing title.

But his voice is sweet as he replies, “The fishing is quiet lovely.”

“I will have to inquire upon a shipment of fish then. I do miss your char.”

Thor wonders when she ever had reason to taste the food of their land, and Loki’s face mirrors the thought. But they keep eating. It is a plate of leaves and salted beef and a soft, supple fruit that bursts in the mouth that the Aesir call an orange. They have cattle here, smaller and less aggressive than the ones on Jotunheim, they were informed.

“You enjoy Asgard, Thor?”

He drops his fork and it clatters. There is a redness that rises to his cheeks and Loki thinks it is the Aesir equivalent of shame. Thor’s ears are red too, and Loki thinks it appropriate, and all too amusing.

“Yes. Very much.”

She hums and takes another bite of food, taking her time. “Thor. That is an odd name for one of Jotunheim. I wonder, who bore you?”

She has no shame, Loki thinks, keeping his eyes on Thor.

“Oh, I do not remember my parents. I came from the outlands. Laufey took me in as a boy.”

“He must have been terrible to you, then!” Balder says suddenly from his end of the table.

They all turn to look at him and something in his mother’s eyes must have cowed him, for he ducks his head. “I am sorry, I do apologize. I just...it is simply that—”

“You are right. He was a terror, truly. He met an equally terrible end I can assure you.” It is the most Loki has spoken since they were found by the Queen, and his heart is calmer for it.

Balder looks appropriately shamefaced and gestures for them to go on.

“I would know of your life under Laufey,” she says. She would not relent.

Loki knows Thor is floundering, his hands now tucked beneath the table. He speaks quickly, but honestly. Loki has heard it all before.

“I was a slave as a boy. I was considered strange for I looked...” he glances at Loki and back to Frigga. “I looked different. When the King’s brother saw I was growing into a man, he and Loki...the King saw a chance at me becoming a guard for the King. And I have been and will continue to be.”

“Such loyalty is much adored and respected here. It is good to love your King so.”

“I believe it is good as well,” Thor says, confident and sure.

Loki feels a private smile tugging at his mouth and so he fills it with another piece of fruit.

It is then Frigga raises her hand just enough to be noticed. Another moment and a guard places a piece of folded parchment in her waiting hand.

“I have here a letter for your father, Laufey. It is years past its time, and perhaps its use. But I do not often lose hope in the endeavors I see to undertake.”

She slides it along the table top to Thor and Loki thinks it odd in itself.

When Thor begins to pick at the wax seal, the Queen stops him. “Please. It is for a later time. When you find yourself on a lonely night, give it to your King.”

Thor nods, obviously confused, and tucks it away in the layers of his clothing. Loki allows it, knowing that Thor will not have the patience and he will see the letter soon enough.

“Well, I believe we have spoken enough for one day. I ask you both to stay for a while. A gift. Enjoy the orchards, the fields, the mountains. I will have clean ice brought to you within the hour.”

“We really cannot—”

“Yes, of course you can, dearest King.”

Loki feels cornered, and he finds he does not like the feeling at all.

\--

They are led to what appear to be royal grade chambers. Silks of all colors hand from the ceilings, high as the stars themselves it seems. The same gold carving stretches across the floor even here and though many of the shelves and desks within the room are bare, there are bookcases packed with the very tombs Loki once dreamt of.

The bed in the center of the room is large and oval and piled high with furs and pillows—filled with straw and not feathers, Loki finds—with red linen and silk pouring over onto the floor. It looks a delicious mess and far too warm and Loki wants to bury Thor in it and take him right then.

“Loki,” Thor says, a gleam in his eye.

But Loki knows they must wait a while. “Let them deliver the ice, and then we will ruin their supposed _gifts_.”

It is a short while later a large block of ice, charmed to stay frozen, is delivered to them. Thor pushes it into the room easily. Then they are alone.

\--

Loki slides into Thor on a groan and it has Thor twisting his fingers tight into the skin of Loki’s thighs. Loki buries his face in golden hair, feels hot breath on his already damp skin, revels in the freedom of touching his face to Thor’s without the burden of his horns. He moves frantically inside Thor, and Thor only pushes him on, voice stuck on _more more more_ —

Loki says, “Open your eyes, Thor.”

Hazy blue peer out between slits and Loki watches as he fights not to close them as the sounds come faster, his hips grind slower.

Loki wishes to see Thor as he is in this form during the most ruined state he can have him and oh, is it lovely to gaze upon.

\--

Loki dreams of Angrboda and secrets and burning villages. He dreams of his father, carrying a child.

He dreams of Thor’s face, framed in gold cast wild by the wind.

\--

There is a voice that wakes him. Loki recognizes it immediately.

Mimir.

He quietly slips from Thor’s side and leaves the room.

\--

Frigga is there, farther down the hall, and Loki cannot help but cease walking forward. He has the mind to simply leave and return when his _summons_ was not so obvious.

She meets his eyes and continues on, Loki deciding to follow her.

\--

“You seek knowledge. Strange for one so young as you.”

Loki hums but does not grant her an answer.

“You seek to uncover secrets, then?”

He stays silent and it is Frigga’s turn to hum.

\--

They stand before a chamber foreign to his eyes. When they passed the vault, he thought that surely Mimir, in spirit or otherworldly ether, would be there amongst the diminished stock.

But no.

Here there is an all powerful, drenching presence and it is so much, too much. Overpowering, drowning, burning—

When he is forced to his knees, gasping for breath, Loki sees his skin was back to the familiar blue. He hangs his head and the weight of his horns is there once more.

He should be affronted at having his guise broken through and ripped down so easily by a faceless force. But all he can think is how hours earlier he had reveled in pressing his forehead to Thor’s, falling asleep that way.

Frigga is a constant presence behind him some yards back, even as the voice raises once more. It seems to affect her not at all.

“Son of a King come looking for truths.”

“Yes,” he gasps, trying to steady his breathing.

“She who is aware of the worlds and their multifaceted realities know of that which you search for, but can never name.” Loki knows Mimir refers to Frigga, though the words are abstract and hold little reason to him. “But I, I can answer you for a price.”

“You demand payment even as a head?” Loki cannot help but to blurt out.

It has the presence rushing over him once more, swaying through his body. And oh, it feels terrifying.

“What price do you think worthy? You could not name so true a thing for you keep truths even from yourself. I would have your pride, your kingdom, your lies.”

Loki thinks, no, but finds he cannot speak.

“Loki Laufeyson.” The name from such an omniscient thing makes Loki feel small. “What is it you want?”

“I want to know the worlds beyond mine and yours. I want to know what the realms hold from their skies to their very cores.”

“You wish to travel the stars?”

“More than anything,” he murmurs, the words feeling weak slipping off his tongue.

“You desire more than that, do not lie.”

“I am not—”

“Do not lie!” the voice demands, and Loki quiets.

“You seek Thor.”

That grounds Loki enough to raise an eyebrow, wondering. “I already have Thor.”

“You seek our realm and kin of your own. They are one in the same.”

“What do you mean, ancient one?” Dread drags slow through his limbs and he feels his legs tense.

“You will lose both soon enough.”

“More, you redundant creature! Tell me a truth that makes sense!” Loki shouts, his voice echoing through the empty chamber. The walls yawn high and arching and let in no light save for a foggy glow along the floor.

“Payment.”

Bearing his teeth and snarling, Loki grabs his horns at the base and calls the ice of old winter to his palms. He grits his teeth and concentrates and freezes the bone, layer by layer.

It seems to take forever, and Mimir and Frigga are both so silent he wonders if he has not been left alone.

With a cry that bounces off the walls, Loki breaks the bone with loud cracks, letting them drop from his numb fingers. His head is a chaotic whirl of droning pain and ache and it burns. He remains where he is, gasping, before picking up one curve of ridged bone and tossing it out into the darkness.

“Have these, you foul thing. Take my pride, my birthright. I would carve out the lines of my house if I had the knife for it.”

“Ideas, young King...”

Loki thinks for a moment it is what he will have to do if he wants to receive what Mimir will give him.

“I once had a well, but now I only have riddles. Odin was a crafty warmongering leader for that. But I will tell you what you must do to find that which you search for.”

“It is all I ask.”

The room seems to swell with power, with meaning. A large intake of breath, before finally letting out.

“The morning shines golden in Asgard, once twice, now only once. You hold the crowned first in your heart, and the second in your mind. Wake tomorrow and return to your realm and you will know my words are true.”

And just like that the air lifts and Loki is able to breathe.

\--

Loki would truly be lying if he said he was not troubled.

He has no thought to how those words could possibly aid him in his quest to gain knowledge of all the realms. Not a clue.

Frigga leads him back in silence.

\--

“Why?” Loki asks her when they stand before the door to their guest chambers.

“Family, Loki.”

When Loki slips in beside Thor, door now shut and bolted and charmed, hands pressed to Thor’s side and chest, he finds he cannot sleep.

He thinks of his mother, lost and dazed, drifting through Jotunheim’s structures.

He thinks of Mimir’s words. How he thought only of Thor’s golden hair and how it looked like gold in the Asgardian sunlight. He thought again of Thor when Mimir spoke of kin...for who else did Loki have than Thor? Truly?

He drifts for hours on thoughts of what ifs and maybes and thinks he is at the edge of finding the answer to Mimir’s riddle. But his grasp is cursed to slipping and he only just manages to grasp it before it flies from him, mute and unknowable.

\--

Loki wakes up to Thor staring at him. He had not even realized he’d fallen asleep.

Thor is gawking, staring at his forehead.

Oh.

“Yes, that happened last night.”

“Loki, was it...was it me? Did I do something when I—”

Loki snorts and presses his face to the bend of Thor’s neck. Thor’s arms come up around him automatically.

He was never able to bury his face in Thor’s neck. It is not such an unpleasant thing.

“They must look a mess.”

“Your forehead has not a blemish. I do not understand, what happened? Have you charmed them only?”

Loki is surprised by that. He felt them break jagged and uneven beneath his hands. “No. I spoke with Mimir last night while you were snoring. He demanded a price for his words.”

Thor brings his arm around, raising his hand to brush his thumb over Loki’s temple. “Was it worth it?”

“You liked them greatly, I take it?” Thor huffs as Loki laughs against him.

He pulls away and touches Thor’s face. Then he threads his fingers through Thor’s still yellow hair.

“He spoke to me of gold. It was not exactly a rewarding exchange.”

Thor frowns and it twists something in Loki’s chest.

He suddenly feels like he’s about to lose everything and nothing and it frightens him. Loki sinks into Thor’s warmth, feels his heart beat steady and warm against his cheek.

Thor kisses where his horns once were and they drift back to sleep.

\--

When they must wake for the last time, Loki rolls on top of Thor and kisses him awake, grinding his hips into Thor’s slowly. Thor smiles lazily into the kiss and is meeting his thrusts, sighing to wakefulness.

Loki rucks down the sheet around them, then trails his arms above Thor’s to take his hands and hold them in his grasp. He ruts against Thor until he feels Thor go hard and they pant against each other’s mouths.

Loki spills just after Thor does, his heart set to thundering.

Thor kisses him and it is like the dread had never left.

\--

They are dressed and ready to depart. They are gathering various books and trinkets the room has within it, no shame in taking home what can easily be replaced. Asgard is obviously not wanting for literature. Loki still feels the need to find their real libraries. The ones with shelves that are said to reach the skies.

Another time.

Thor is done before he is, waiting dutifully as Loki finishes gathering his things. He stands before Thor and takes his face between his hands. Thor is smiling at him softly and on a burst of impulse, Loki presses his cheeks together, and it has Thor laughing deeply.

“Let us be done with this ridiculous disguise. Us as Aesir is simply unsettling.”

“I quite enjoyed your other eyes. They were green, like your envy.”

“Ha!” Loki scoffs at him, mocking. But there’s no malice in it. Then, “I suppose I will miss your golden tresses.”

“You will dream of the color, do not lie.”

“Watch your tongue around your King, scoundrel.”

“I will when that King has not already had my tongue inside him in several places.”

“Ymir’s blood, Thor, you are bold today,” Loki chides him, grinning far too broadly for it to hold the words to hold any scathing tone.

Thor is smiling as he closes his eyes, waiting for Loki to work. Thor’s hands are resting at his sides and it is a comforting weight.

Loki wonders just when this all became how it currently was. When his heart set to racing whenever Thor gave him small smiles or challenged him with sarcasm or any other such thing.

Loki feels that dread lift a while as he concentrates.

But Thor does not jolt, and the heat does not spread. Nothing is happening and Loki doesn’t know why, he _doesn’t_.

“Loki?” Thor questions, peeking an eye open.

“Hold on.”

Another while passes and then they find they are staring at each other. Thor has both brows raised, nearly meeting each other. On his pale face the expression seems far too vulnerable.

“Be still and let me just...”

“Loki, I—”

“Quiet!” he hisses and Thor’s hold on his sides tightens just once before relaxing.

Loki feels his uplifting calm quickly dissipate into frantic bursts of thought. He remembers Angrboda’s words, remembers the Asgardian women fawning over Thor and how so _Aesir_ he looked, remembers the way Mimir spoke of gold and kin and those of the _heart_ —

No, no, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know the answer to the riddle _._ He _doesn’t._

“Perhaps Mimir did—”

“Do not dare to mutter that name to me!”

“Loki, I just...please!” Thor says finally, grabbing Loki’s hands from his face. His eyes are pleading and Loki feels his temple throb. “What is it, Loki?”

Loki pulls ragged breaths through his nose, out his mouth. Then, tugging his hands away from Thor, he places them against Thor’s cheeks again.

He turns him as orange as the fruit they ate. He turns him green, turns him pink. He can cast a glimmer of color over Thor but no more. He cannot remove his first guise, the first.

Loki does not want to think that Mimir, having removed Loki’s guise also removed...no, no, he will _not_.

“I do not know why. Thor, I don’t know.”

“You are just tired. It will wear off on its own, surely.”

Loki thinks the words are not meant for him, but says nothing.

When Thor leans in to kiss him, Loki turns away and heads for the door.

“We are leaving. We will find the answer to this when we are home, in our own bed, eating our own food.”

\--

Frigga is there, again, when they exit the palace.

Loki is growing infuriated with the sight of her. Her and her unnatural kindness. It makes him itch and anxious and wary in a way he cannot name. Like she always knows that which he does not.

“Loki, Thor.”

“What has the bastard done? I paid my due, there is no need to pull careless tricks on others.” He realizes the irony of his words but bites his tongue.

Frigga is looking between the two of them, sight lingering always on Thor. Loki doesn’t understand why, and it is driving him mad.

“You have known of the gold you held before you left his chamber. You know this.”

“No,” he hisses, low.

“Laufey did many terrible things when he marched upon Asgard. I told you of some of the very few. The ones that mattered.”

“No!” he cries, taking Thor’s hand, wanting to drag him past her, but Thor has manner enough not to push aside a woman, a Queen no less. Loki hates those inborn morals more than ever at this moment.

“It was war, chaos met with tragedy. I am glad you kept Laufey’s secret safe.”

“Loki,” murmurs Thor behind him. “What—”

Loki thinks back to the afternoon they were granted access to the Vault. Thinks of how she told them of Laufey spreading ice and lighting villages to flame and stealing _children_.

“I cannot remove my own charm because it is no longer even there,” Loki says without turning. He fears what he will see in Thor’s face.

Thor is slowly understanding and Loki hates it, he despises it. “Loki, what do you mean.”

Loki bites the words, one by one. “Mimir removed my false skin when I came to him. He removed yours as well.”

“False skin?” Thor laughs. “I am of Jotunheim, I do not—”

“Mimir brings only the truth to the eyes of those who either cannot or will not see it,” Frigga says, voice soft.

Loki wants to scream at her.

He instead turns to face Thor.

“You are not of Jotunheim. You are not a Jotun at all.” The words sear his tongue and make his temple throb painfully.

Thor’s eyes are shining. “What?”

Loki snaps, “You are an Aesir you dolt! Laufey stole you as a babe. I...I do not know—”

Thor looks over Loki’s shoulder and he knows he is meeting eyes with the Queen. Loki is close enough to hear his small hitch of breath and it makes him choke back a sob of his own. Drown it down with anger, with fury instead.

“Who?” Thor breathes.

“We named you. You are a son of Odin.”

Thor takes a step back, lips parting and eyes brimming with tears Loki knows are as rare as his own. He feels his heart will shred.

“Odin’s _son_ ,” Thor repeats, empty, flat.

His fingers find Loki’s cuff.

“Loki, this...I did not want—”

Loki shrugs his grasp from his sleeve and turns to regard Frigga.

“Take your son back, then. Is that not what prompted your first Raven?”

“It is.”

Loki bites his tongue until he tastes copper and then he is walking away.

Thor grabs firmly for his arm and halts him for only a moment. Long enough for Loki to stare him down. Long enough for Thor to stare right back.

“Do not let Laufey do this. Not now, after everything. We were raised together. We played together like brothers.” He leans close and Loki feels he could fall right there if only to breathe in Thor’s heady scent a last time. They cannot do this, not here, not here, not— “Loki, please. You know I love you, do not think I will just...I—”

His voice breaks and Loki, eyes burning with tears, allows himself to embrace Thor a last time.

No more.

His lips drag cold against Thor’s burning neck, and he feels liquid dot his cheek.

Loki releases Thor and separates himself completely, cloak falling about his shoulders and hiding his form. His hands shake.

“I am King of Jotunheim. You are the crown prince of Asgard.” Loki takes a shaky breath. “No, you are King also.”

Loki’s laugh is closer to a sob and he feels Thor’s fingers brush his back with his voice wavering before Loki is calling the stars to his hands.

“Fare thee well, son of Odin.”

The pull of space steals him away, wrenching him back into the dark. The sensation robs Loki of his voice and he is grateful for it.

Had he stayed, he knows not what he would have done.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a sequel.


End file.
